2 in the morning thoughts:
To acknowledge your value as a human being, one must accept one’s gift and own voice within the world. However, such an acceptance can be deemed painful; no one is to redeem or affirm it but a few souls willing to look.
Everything within that art becomes full of pain. The very thing used as a way to express oneself becomes locked within the very artist; writing to express the very pain that writing has caused, becoming almost an endless cycle of pain and anguish founded in the art one once loved.
I wrote such a poem, or three as a series, and expressed it as such. Though rarely do I post anymore on here, I am writing. My value has actual ground. Not many people can write such as I do, which is why I cannot post freely.
I doubt anyone is listening, and those who do will shake their heads in affirmation, or with a voice as feeble as my own, and everything else will echo off, almost endless in silence.
Nothing has changed.